


Stay

by belovedmuerto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:16:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/pseuds/belovedmuerto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John sleeps better on the nights he dreams of Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [History, Repeating Itself](https://archiveofourown.org/works/179622) by [gyzym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyzym/pseuds/gyzym). 



> oh hai. i writed moar fluff. i hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Like the other fluffy stuff, this hasn't been beta'd or Brit-picked, because I write them fast and dirty and then re-read them a few times and then post them.

John doesn’t remember when he started dreaming about Sherlock, but he knows it happens at least once a week. Sweet dreams, innocent, chaste. They’re almost always just about exactly the same; he turns over at some point in the night and Sherlock is there next to him, all long fingers and soft smiles. He’s come to expect them, to look forward to the nights where he dreams that Sherlock comes to his bed. He always sleeps better when he’s dreaming of Sherlock instead of Afghanistan.

So he sighs happily in his sleep when Sherlock appears beside him, when Sherlock smiles at him and kisses his nose, and John curls into him while humming his pleasure, wraps his arms the tall, skinny, pale column of man and sinks deeper into sleep. He’s only vaguely aware of the happy sound that rumbles through Sherlock as he settles into the bed.

His sleep cycles back into a fit state to dream again with Sherlock wrapped around him, long fingers stroking through his hair and on his hip, just below the waistband of his pajama pants. Sherlock snores softly, cheek resting atop John’s head. John murmurs something that even his own brain can’t decipher and sinks again.

John surfaces into the dream again, right in the middle, when Sherlock starts to shift away from him. It feels like he’s awake, but he knows he isn’t. It’s all a dream, just like always. As much as he wishes it weren’t, he can’t let himself believe that it’s anything else. But it makes him hold on all the tighter to the dream version of Sherlock.

It’s that especially dark time of night, right before things start to lighten with the dawn, and dream-Sherlock is trying to leave. John anchors him to the bed with a leg and his arms, stretches up to press his lips against the other man’s surprisingly solid jaw.

“Stay,” he murmurs, snuggling for all he’s worth. He doesn’t want dream-Sherlock to go anywhere, he’s so warm and comfy and _right_.

Sherlock mumbles something that sounds like “I should go.” But he doesn’t get up, just rolls onto his side, pulling John with him so they’re spooned together. John snuggles as close as he can, nuzzling his nose into Sherlock’s curls, up and down his neck.

“Mmmm,” John murmurs, “Smell good.”

Sherlock laces their fingers together over his sternum. “John, are you--”

John presses a kiss to the nape of Sherlock’s neck. “Stay,” he murmurs again. He keeps pressing kisses to Sherlock’s neck, murmuring the same plea between them, until he sinks back into deep sleep.

**

John wakes up alone. He always wakes up alone. And hard. Ridiculously hard. He groans into his pillow, half frustration, half lust, as he turns on his side and takes himself in hand.

Later, he pulls on a jumper over his t-shirt and pajama pants and stumbles downstairs to the kitchen.

 

Sherlock is sitting in the lounge, reading something. He looks up at John with a soft smile. It’s the same smile the dream version of the man gives John at night, when John turns to him in bed and sighs as if he’s now complete.

“Morning,” John mumbles, trying not to sound mad at the man. It can’t be helped that Sherlock drives John mad. He can’t help it that John fell in love with him.

John goes into the kitchen and starts the kettle. He stares at it while it does its job, letting his mind wander. It wanders back to the same place as usual, Sherlock, and he sighs at his own hopelessness.

He doesn’t hear Sherlock come up behind him, but he feels it. John concentrates on fixing his tea, on adding the milk, on precisely the right amount of sugar; he’s not up to dealing with today until he’s had at least a little bit of caffeine to kick-start his brain. He can’t think about that smile Sherlock gave him just yet. So it’s probably understandable that when his flatmate puts a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, he just about startles out of his own skin. Sherlock pulls his hand back like he’s been burnt.

John whirls around to stare at him, but Sherlock has already retreated to the other side of the table. He looks hurt, and that’s not right. He shouldn’t look hurt, he shouldn’t have done that, because John is awake now, and Sherlock doesn’t do those things in real life, only in John’s dreams.

“Sherlock,” John starts, voice questioning, but Sherlock whirls and leaves--no, he flees. Because Sherlock doesn’t do vulnerable, doesn’t do relationships--does he? _Wait, what?_

John wonders what the hell is going on for about three seconds before it hits him.

 _No. No? Wait, no. Wait, really? Really? Holy god._

He’d been awake. Or at least partially awake. It’s hard to tell anymore, for him.

He’d told Sherlock to stay. Begged him, actually. _Oh, bugger._

Well, then. Nothing like thinking you’re dreaming to leave you telling your mad flatmate that you’re in love with him. Maybe not in so many words, but he expects the effect is pretty much the same.

And John isn’t one to flinch from this sort of thing, he’s going to have to unfuck this, be the one to fix it. He’s not going to go running off, especially as it seems Sherlock feels the same way about him.

Sherlock’s door is shut, so he knocks. There’s no answer, so he keeps knocking.

“Sherlock, come on,” he calls out, reasonably enough. His patience wears thin quickly. He doesn’t like Sherlock hiding. He doesn’t want Sherlock hiding.

“Sherlock!”

The door is unlocked, so he gives up on polite and enters the room. He’s never been in Sherlock’s room before. It’s immaculate, even more pristine than John’s militarily neat room. There isn’t even any dust.

“Sherlock?” he ventures, softer now.

The man is curled up on his bed, facing away from John, rolled into a tight ball. Other than his current presence, the bed doesn’t look like it’s ever been slept in. John sits beside him, and Sherlock flinches away.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” John says softly. “I didn’t know, Sherlock.”

Sherlock snorts.

“I thought I was asleep, you know.”

Sherlock twists to look up at him, ‘you’re not serious’ written clearly in his eyes.

“Have you any idea how fucked my sleep patterns have been since I got back?” John asks, softly. “I can’t ever tell when I’m asleep or awake at night, other than the nightmares. I thought I was dreaming you.” John shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Sherlock glares at him, but his body relaxes.

“I meant it, Sherlock.”

“Meant what?” Sherlock whispers.

“All of it.”

Sherlock sighs.

John stretches out on the bed behind Sherlock, tentatively puts an arm around his waist. Sherlock grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, pulling him closer, closer still. John snakes his free hand under Sherlock so that he can hug the taller man to him, and drapes a leg over his hip.

“Stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss the to nape of Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock shivers.

“Stay,” he says it again, a promise, another kiss.

“Stay,” he says, a demand, another kiss.

He keeps saying it, keeps punctuating it with kisses against Sherlock’s neck, until it loses all meaning, until the promise and the demand are one.

**Author's Note:**

> (I keep waking up with these things in my head. This one, as it turns out, may have been unconsciously inspired by the super duper awesome 'History, Repeating Itself' by gyzym. It is seriously *stupid* awesome and you should all go over there right now and read it.)


End file.
